Then,
The noise, iron on steel on tin,
Voices lifting, a cheerful hive of clamour,
John Riddel, waistcoated for work, flushed under the glass roof, catalogue in hand,
The goods, hinge, lock, gaslight, iron, mangle, railing, plough part and hoe,
The whole a modern marvel.
Now,
The near silence, a cathedral hush,
The light, pale and pure on cobwebs and chalked True Love,
Marcus, earnest in an anorak, believers ranged around, amazed.
This is our Saint Sebastian's finger,
A miraculous relic,
Frozen architecture, mood and memory,
Holy tears of heritage.
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